


The Red Haired Boy and His Lover Wolf

by ink2819



Category: Sherlock (TV), The Company of Wolves - Angela Carter
Genre: Alternate Universe - Little Red Riding Hood, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 01:09:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19096663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ink2819/pseuds/ink2819
Summary: Mycroft Holmes, the sweetest boy in the village with a head of beautiful red locks, has a well kept secret.(Inspired by Angela Carter's "The Company of Wolves". I can't tell if this is beastiality or just metaphorical anymore, so please do beware of that.)





	The Red Haired Boy and His Lover Wolf

To lie with the grey wolves, he ventured deep into the woods.

The further he went, the louder the wind howled above and below him, but he had nothing to fear. The boy did not care if the bone chilling shriek came from heaven or hell, for he belonged to neither. He belonged to the wolves.

To lie with the wolf, the boy tread through the forest, pins and needles at his feet.  

“Do watch out for the thorns,” His lover warned him about them. “They are poisonous, do you know, gave me a good swelling.” Said the boy wolf with a wince.

But the boy already knew about the poisonous plants. He knew a great deal more than that. Mycroft, the boy with gorgeous red locks. The brightest in the land, also the sweetest, most innocent boy in the village, so they say. They hardly noticed their sweet Mykie sneaking into the shadows every other evening after his bedtime. He lay with the wolf.

It was awfully cold for the boy wolf and his friends, perhaps it was also why they howled so much.

The red haired boy lit them a fire in the abandoned shed. He carried a basket with him from the village. From it he took out the bread that he did not eat, made from flour milled so wonderfully fine, and the milk that he did not drink. “Saved them for you.” He said, as he added timber into the fire.

It was a long walk in the freezing winter, so he snuggled under the cover made from the skins of his lover’s games. The boy wolf warmed the bed for him, reached for his lean body and pulled him close. In the lover’s arms the ice he brought in from the storm melted and unfolded. The boy wolf licked the frost off his pale lashes. The wind was like a flock of blades for him out there in the woods, but no sharper than his lover’s fangs. It was thorny and rough out there, too, but no pins or needles were as prickly as his lover’s tongue. It was all alright. Mycroft thought, as he liked a bit of pain.

The boy wolf’s heavy breaths burned on his neck, scorched the underside of his jaw. He weaved his fingers through that glorious silver hair, “How you’d have glowed in the moonlight.” He praised.

“You should come with us when it gets warmer,” the wolf said, sounding a bit smug, “I’d sing a hell of a good song for ya.”

Mycroft smiled and planted a soft kiss between his lover’s brows, “I’m sure you will.” He said, and the boy wolf was so happy with the thought of the singing, the moon, and the red haired boy being there with him, he hummed a joyous tune into the boy’s chest. The wolf’s big tail stirred and swayed under the covers, brushing the boy’s thigh. Mycroft gasped and felt the heat crept up his face. Sensing his fluster even in the gloom like any good hunter would, the boy wolf sniffed him. Big moist nose searching, to confirm the discovery.

“Gregory, your eyes, they’re huge.” Mycroft’s hand went to cradle his lover’s cheek. Ghost lights blinked in the boy wolf’s eyes as the fire flickered behind them. “Two little mercury mirrors they are, scared the shit out of your people.” The boy wolf licked his teeth, “Tell me, are you not scared?”

“Whatever is there to be scared of?”

“Dunno, my big eyes?”

“All the better to see me with.” Mycroft said slyly as he reached down with a tender hand and stroked his lover’s tail. Then he lifted his knee to his lover’s waist, leg hooking around him. “Gregory, you want me to get my breeches off?”

The wolf whimpered and panted as he knew he was teased, nodding. Who would have guessed that the wolf was timid and shy in the eyes of his lover? “And what do we say, my darling?”

“Please.” The boy wolf licked his teeth once more, his stern jaws shut with a snap. The wolf looked at the red haired boy with prayer eyes even though he knew no deity in his life.

“Good boy.” Mycroft granted the wolf’s wish and untied his garments. His flesh and skin and pulsing blood in his blue veins had his beast driven wild with desire. His fire kissed strands like coiled copper wire are the prettiest sunset descended from the sky. He offered his body, and his lover took from him like any wolf would with the food and shelter that sprung from the earth, with pressing need, contentment, gratitude and awe.

Limbs, hands and feet, tail, paws and claws, entangled. They kissed, sharp teeth and soft gum and the blood of his lover’s prey. The kisses tasted of iron and salt, the lives of the woods heavy on his tongue.

Those calloused thumbs pinned his hips down to the sheets. The hair on his lover’s legs gave his pale thighs a crimson rash. The wolf’s chest heaved, his belly like silk, and Mycroft ran his hand through it, all the way sliding under to the throbbing cock of the wolf. Naked and hard for him midst the dark tuft, burning, swollen and tremouring beside his own erection by the contact.

“I missed you.” The wolf groaned deep in his throat. Because of Christmas, and because of the storm, the boy was separated from his lover for a fortnight. The wolf craved for him, longed and yearned for his body until no carnage nor bloodshed could quench his thirst. The boy knew this and set out to compensate, he jerked and milked his lover to ecstacy. The wolf’s breaths and moans frantic, inches from his ear and he sent his head buzzing like it housed a nest of hornets.

“I missed you.” He whispered back when his lover intruded him. His digits pressed along the wolf’s labouring spine, finding the dimple on his back, his firm bottocks, his chiseled legs.

Tides of pleasure and waves of pain, jumbled together and took all the air from his lungs all the same. With each thrust and writhe the bed frame creaked and complained along his cry of his lover’s name.

Mycroft finished his lover in his lap, riding him with the ferocity that put all the horsemen in the land to shame. His red hair tossed in mid air, unable to think. The wolf’s tender throat gulping, open and vulnerable, salt-and-pepper, grainy, prickling stubble hugging his throat.

His throat---he thought, as his muscles contracted and his hips buckled, paralyzing him---most soft, the skin once torn apart---flesh flares and blood and oxygen would rush out of there.

The throat--he thought, as his lover went still beneath him, whimpering like he was injured, overcame with sensation---most warm, heart beating, pulse strong, tut-tut-tut knocking against bones, courageous like battle drums declaring war.

His lover might have been the carnivore incarnate, but as he rode them both undone in the golden shade of dawn, it was hard to tell who was once the animal and who was once the prey.

Cooled sweat dampened his forehead and slid down under his knees, the morning came once more and the wind died down. He must return to civilization.

“You take those hares with you back to the village, pet.” The wolf said, offering his quarry for the boy. He loomed close and licked the boy all over, leaving his scent on those blushing cheeks.

“And tell my father I caught them how?” Mycroft asked, lifting his eyebrow quizzingly.

“Tell him you made a hunter friend or, hell, you are so smart you must have caught them with some amazing gadget.”

“Alright. Thank you.” The boy blinked and smiled, his lashes transparent in the glow of the sunrise. The wolf had the urge to kiss him again, but the boy slipped away before his lover could catch him.

Smuggling the semen of his predator and wearing his love bites, mycroft searched for his shirt tucked under the end of the bed, that he kicked out of the way during their intercourse. His clothes all wrinkled and ruined now. _Maybe should just throw them into the fire,_ thought Mycroft with a smile.


End file.
